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  The Corsair’s Captive

  A pirate doesn’t ask for permission - he takes.

  When I see the delicate human female collared and enslaved by the smuggler I’m about to swindle, I do what any male would do.

  I take her from him. It’s what I do best, after all.

  Now Fran’s mine, and I’m never giving her up. On board my spaceship, she’ll be safe. She’ll wear my clothes, eat my food, and sleep in my bed. I’ll keep her safe from a galaxy that wishes her harm.

  But my sweet Fran wants nothing more than to return to Earth. How can I take her home when she holds my heart in her dainty, four-fingered hands?

  This story stands completely alone and is only marginally connected to the Ice Planet Barbarians series and Prison Planet Barbarian. You do not need to read those books in order to follow this one.

  The Corsair’s Captive

  A Sci-Fi Alien Romance

  Ruby Dixon

  Ruby Dixon

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruby Dixon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover photo by Sara Eirew Photographer

  Cover art by Kati Wilde

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Prison Planet Barbarian

  Ice Planet Barbarians

  Ruby Dixon Reading List

  Want More?

  1

  KIVIAN

  Some jobs are a real pain in the keffing ass.

  I kick my feet up on the control panel of my ship, The Dancing Fool, and ignore the look Sentorr shoots in my direction. I’m not going to break anything, and I ignore his fussiness. Even if I kicked the control panel in with my boots, he’d gripe less than if I scuffed it, so I learned to ignore him long ago. I can deal with his griping.

  It’s the one on the other end of the comm that’s making me wish I could hang up.

  “As I’ve said, the plans have changed,” the kaskri Senator Bom Th’lek continues in a calm voice, as if he hasn’t just upended all of my hard work to get to this point. “We now require twice the amount of lethiul crystal than originally specified. Things have escalated on our end. We are, of course, happy to pay.”

  I snort. Keffing right they’d be happy to pay. I rub a hand on my forehead, wishing I could perhaps jab a finger right through to my brain and put myself out of my misery. “You do realize we run a four-man crew here? It’s not like I’m swimming in soldiers. Asking me to double the original payload changes everything. There’s credits to be considered, and the meet-up itself, and—“

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Bom Th’lek tells me. “Just make it happen or we have no deal.” He terminates the signal before I can.

  I growl and slam my fist into the comm panel. “Three keffing weeks we’ve been working on this job, laying the groundwork to meet our contacts, and now he decides that he wants double?”

  “It’s almost like piracy doesn’t pay,” Alyvos says dryly.

  “Quiet,” I tell him, irritated. I’ve heard this same story from our nav over and over again. Ex-military are the biggest nags, but Alyvos knows what he’s doing at least, and he’s paid well to be a pirate. He’s just a keffing hypocrite. I’m in a bad mood already; I don’t want to hear more nagging from him.

  “So what now?” Tarekh, our medic, asks. “Do we abandon the gig?” He leans against the port console, a frown on his big ugly face. “Expose ‘em? Leak the intel to their government?”

  I rub the shaved sides of my head, thinking. The kaskri are assholes, but they also pay well and they’re repeat customers. They’re not afraid to do shady things and pay well for them. If we sell them out, we get our five minutes of revenge, but we also lose a lot of credibility. A corsair that can’t keep his mouth shut about a job is an unemployed corsair…or a dead one. “We’ll go through with it,” I tell my crew, musing on the changes. “It’s still a good paying job we’ve put a lot of credits into, and a lot of time.”

  Sentorr gives me a curious look. “And then?”

  “And then we’ll charge them double if they actually want their cargo,” I tell him with an easy smile, getting to my feet.

  “Yes, but how are we going to do this? It took weeks to line up the meeting at Haal Ui Station as it is.” Alyvos looks concerned.

  “I’ll figure it out. I just need to think on it for a bit and pick out my clothes.” I glance over at Sentorr. “You have the bridge.”

  He snorts at my response but turns to face his controls, already back to work. That’s why my men are so good at what they do. We can bicker, but when it comes down to the task, we all work together.

  I stalk through my ship, heading to the captain’s quarters. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a hitch in a job, and it won’t be the last. I just need to think things through. I trail my fingers along the wall as I move through my ship, lost in thought. Truth is, I’m not thinking much about the job and how much of a screw-up it’s turning out to be. My thoughts are a million miles away. I don’t see the scatter of tools stacked along a shelf near the hull, and I barely notice as I kick aside a canister of empty fuel processor to get to my room. I pass my hand in front of my panel lock, and the door to my suite opens. I close the door after me, and as I do, I close my eyes as gentle music begins to play. The rest of the ship may be a mess because Tarekh’s in charge of cleaning and he’s a slob, but in here, all is in order.

  It helps me to think.

  Jobs come and go. Kaskri are always trying to change jobs on us, which is one reason why they have to deal with pirates instead of regular merchants. Well, that and they’re trying to buy illegal goods. That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s something else.

  I stare at the metal overhead compartment without seeing it. I need to focus on our destination—Haal Ui Station—and our problem: double the amount of lethiul crystal and how I’m supposed to get enough when I’ve only got the money for one load. Our contact at the station is as arrogant as he is idiotic, so it shouldn’t be too hard to con him into double the cargo. I just need a sound plan.

  I glance over at my closet. It’s full of intricate, high-end weaves and custom-made fabrics. No synths for me. It’s all part of the image I portray to others—that as a pirate, I’m a bit of an idiot who’s more interested in shiny objects and fancy clothing than dirty work. It all started as a hook for a rather stupid client, and when it continued to work several jobs later, I added it to my permanent repertoire. No one fears a fancily dressed mesakkah male with immaculately styled hair, wearing the finest in fashion who pilots a ship with a silly name.

  That’s exactly what I want them to think. I want them to underestimate me. Of course, I haven’t confessed to anyone that I’ve grown a particular fondness for the expertly made clothing and the way it shows off my form. Even I know when to keep my mouth shut.

  I don’t head to my closet, though. Instead, I pick up my portable communicator and tap through to the last message. It flashes the date received and then begins to play. My older brother’s big grinning face a
ppears on screen, and he hardly looks like himself. Growing up, Jutari was cool, almost cold. During his corsairing, he was competent and efficient, well-groomed and lethal. Even as a prisoner, he’d lost weight and acquired a hunted look on his face. He looked nothing like the sweaty, slightly dazed man that shows up on the comm.

  “Chloe’s pregnant,” he says into the message, scrubbing at his brow and giving a wide-eyed shake of his head. “Frontier doctor finally got here and got her the shots she needed. Seemed to take right away. Of course, it might be because we made sure we used every opportunity for fertilization.” He laughs, the sound pure delight. Somewhere behind him, a voice calls out and his face lights up. “That’s her right now. Let me get her so she can tell you herself.” The camera on the comm bobs and weaves and then there’s a flash of a pale, sweaty human female leaning over the bed of what looks like Jutari’s little farm out on Risda III. It’s bumfuck in the middle of nowhere, but you’d never know it by the joy on my brother’s face. The female—his mate—mumbles something and hides her face in a bowl. Before I can wonder about that strange movement, she makes a retching sound and Jutari turns the camera back on himself with a grimace. “Now’s not a good time. Chloe’s been a little sick ever since the doctor left, and it seems we know why.” He grins, all teeth. “You’re going to be an uncle. What do you think of that?”

  I haven’t sent my reply to my brother yet. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t really care and he’s probably going to make the keffing ugliest baby ever.

  I’m still getting used to his strange-looking human mate. I can’t imagine what a hybrid will look like.

  My brother grins a dopey, contented smile at the camera. “At any rate, this isn’t just to tell you our good news. We don’t get many visitors out here, but if I can convince you to come and say hello the next time you’re between jobs, you should swing by. Chloe would love the company. And she’d also love if you brought her some sweets. She’s been getting cravings.” He pauses. “Lots and lots of sweets. I’ll give you the credits. But even if you can’t get sweets for her, just come visit.” He glances back up at the bed and then points a finger right at me, as if he can see me through the recorder. “That’s an order, you sack of gollack shit. Come and say hello.” The camera pans away for a moment as if Jutari’s about to turn it off, only to blink back to him a moment later. “Oh, and Chloe says she likes sour things too. So bring sweets and sours.” He grins again, and then his face winks out, the message done.

  My brother, the former assassin. My brother, once one of the most feared mercenaries in three galaxies. Now a farmer and soon to be a father. A grinning idiot mated to a very odd-looking human female who’s now going to carry his even odder-looking baby.

  It’s…strange.

  I didn’t think anything of it when I rescued Jutari from the prison planet. He’d sent the signal, and I’d responded. My own “emergency” disk is still buried in the soft tissue of my cheek, and I can wiggle it with my tongue when I’m bored or thinking, kind of like now. I’ve never had occasion to use it. I can cut it from my cheek with a bite, remove the disk and then activate it and my brother would come for me, no matter what, no matter when. No questions asked. It’s been a family tradition, much like piracy. My father was the one who had us implant the disks and with them, he imprinted into us the idea that if your brother is in trouble, you come for him.

  I’ve never had need to use my disk, but Jutari did.

  When I picked him up on the surface of the prison planet, I really hadn’t expected him to bring a passenger, much less a female. Much less a human female, a species too primitive to be allowed to join the galactic community. Their planet’s outlawed and the only humans I’ve ever seen are slaves on the black market. As a crew, The Dancing Fool won’t touch jobs involving slavery or trafficking of any kind. Too messy. The closest I ever got to a human was when my brother showed up with one, announcing she was his.

  I think of my fierce brother and the small, fragile human who seemed very out of her depth aboard the ship. She was quiet, sticking close to my brother’s side, but brave enough, I suppose. I thought perhaps he was taking her with him out of gratitude or maybe as a pet.

  It surprised me to hear he took her as his mate. Surprises me even more that they’ve had a babe together. And my brother—the infamous assassin—looks…content. Happy.

  With a mate and a farm and a child on the way.

  It’s so very strange.

  Perhaps those years in prison changed him more than I realized. Perhaps to him, an ugly female he owes a debt to deserves gratitude and his protection, and since they are both living on a remote planet, perhaps she started to look attractive to him.

  Perhaps.

  I think of the blissful expression on my fierce brother’s face as he held his mate and the way he pressed his mouth to his mate’s as if it were nothing. As if dozens of hygiene laws in every galaxy didn’t exist to warn against that very thing.

  I shudder.

  Maybe all that time in prison made my brother a deviant.

  Maybe that’s why all of this bothers me and makes me restless and ill at ease.

  A nap settles my head, and by the time I wake up, I’ve come up with a new plan. I change into fresh clothing, lacing my intricate sleeves, and head to the mess hall in the ship. Tarekh’s there, shoveling noodles into his mouth, and Sentorr has a cup of tea in front of him.

  “Well?” Sentorr asks. “Did you come up with a new plan?”

  I nod, and we send a comm alert to Alyvos for him to join us. When our fourth enters the room, I begin to explain my changes. I feel good, more like myself. I like living on the edge, and I like a challenge. I like outwitting our enemies and proving just how much smarter we are by robbing them.

  And I’m not going to think about my brother and his odd human mate, not while there are bigger problems.

  I rub my hands together, ready to do this. Double the lethiul crystal means double the payload for us. The original plan had involved meeting our contact, Jth’Hnai. He’s an ooli merchant, new to smuggling, and wants to meet at the bar on Haal Ui Station. Works for me. Public or not, I can do business either way, and Haal Ui is a sketchy sort of place on the edges of known space. I’ll buy him a few drinks to be friendly, play the idiot pirate, pay him for his crystal…and then steal our credits back the moment he leaves the bar.

  The plan hasn’t changed too much in that regard.

  I’m still going to buy the smuggler a few drinks, but I’m going to feel him out about the crystal and if he’s got more. His response will tell me everything—if he gets greedy, then he has more with him. Cagey means he doesn’t but he’s got contacts. Angry means he doesn’t have any more at all. So we’ll see.

  Gambling’s the main part of the plan tonight. It’s the oldest game in the book, but it’s because it works so well on idiots. We’ll play a few hands and I’ll lose just to make him grow careless. Eventually we’ll play for the crystal. If he does have more crystal, we get all of it. It might mean using a bit more muscle than originally planned, but we’ve got it under control. While I’m plying our ooli friend with drinks, Tarekh’s going to station himself inside the bar, hiding in the crowd as silent backup if needed. Alyvos and Sentorr will be on the station to transport the crystal from their docking bay to ours.

  I’ll be gambling and playing the fancy-clothed idiot pirate with our contact.

  It’s a fool-proof sort of plan, and Jth’Hnai won’t suspect a thing. The ooli merchant’s just now wetting his feet into the black market, and we’re going to get in and make our fortunes before he wises up to the realities of working with pirates.

  It should all go perfectly, providing everyone sticks to the plan.

  2

  FRAN

  You’ve never been groped until you’ve been tentacle-groped. There’s no feeling of helpless violation quite like an alien shoving his feelers up your skirt and latching a sucker onto your ass.

  It’s not so
mething I ever thought I’d feel, but I’m having a lot of firsts lately.

  First time to ever wake up and find that I’ve been snatched from my bed? Check.

  First time to ever see an alien? Check.

  First time sold into slavery? Check. Check. Check.

  The little voice inside my head—the one that states the obvious at the most annoying times—I’ve taken to calling Duh Fran. Because every time it speaks, I say “Duh, Fran” to myself.

  Today, Duh Fran is saying Well, you did say you wanted a year off after graduating college to have some adventure.

  Thanks, Duh Fran. Thanks a lot. The universe has a sick sense of humor, because this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.

  The tentacle slicks up my skirt again and I wriggle away. Or try to, anyhow. There’s not a lot of room for walking with the crowd in the bar, and what with the fact that I’ve got a short leash going from the collar around my neck to my captor’s hand. I tug at the cuffs on my wrists, twisting desperately to get free, but no one pays attention. No one pays any attention to me in this hellish version of an alien titty bar. The ones that do aren’t ones I want attention from.

  I thought things were bad when I woke up and found myself in a cage, stripped of my clothing, my dignity, and any idea of what was going on. Somehow, I’d been snatched from my bed and taken to outer space. It seemed so ridiculous that I didn’t believe it at first. I was sure it was a drug of some kind that had been slipped into the water at my apartment building. Something. Anything. Because this just didn’t make sense. But as the days wore on and I kept not waking up, I had to accept the fact that this horrific world wasn’t a bad dream or a chemical reaction—it was my new reality.